


Fitted to Love

by Rubynye



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: F/M, Interspecies, Nonmonogamy, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-09
Updated: 2010-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-06 01:49:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frodo and Merry, and Pippin and Boromir, converse regarding the younger hobbits' relationship with the Man of Gondor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fitted to Love

"Pippin," said Frodo disapprovingly, "I do wish you wouldn't use that kind of language."

Pippin opened his mouth to protest, but it was Merry who replied, "What language, Frodo? Pip was merely speaking like a soldier."

"Which he is not, Meriadoc, and neither are you." Frodo set down his bowl and folded his arms; jaw jutting, Merry matched his stubborn expression, and Pippin rolled his eyes, which meant that he saw Sam notice that Frodo had stopped eating. "Oh, we're in for it now," Pippin muttered to himself as Sam lidded the kettle and came over to check on his master, just in time to hear Merry say, "what of it? Boromir's been teaching us how to handle a sword!"

"Indeed he has," said Frodo, raising an eyebrow. "You and Pippin seem quite taken with Lord Boromir of Gondor." Sam stood over them now, looking disconcertedly from Frodo to Merry; when Sam's gaze turned to him Pippin gave an elaborate shrug for reply and kept eating. The stew was good----Sam had made it, after all----and the dinner entertainment looked ripe indeed, if Pippin could keep himself out of the quarrel.

"Why should we not be fond of Boromir?" Merry retorted. "He's been kind and warm to us, and he seems so..." Merry trailed off, and Pippin put in, "alone, somehow," before remembering, as Frodo's eyes turned to him, that he had intended to stay out of it. Frodo tilted his head skeptically, and Pippin swallowed, thinking _in for a farthing, in for the whole_, and squared his shoulders. "He's a great and lordly Man, but, well, he so often seems alone, and unlike Aragorn I think he minds it. He's not like us, we have each other, and he's not like Legolas and Gimli, bickering like a gaffer and gammer wed fifty years and loving every moment of it." That made Frodo smile and unfold his arms, and Merry and Sam laugh; Pippin continued, as Sam set Frodo's bowl in his hands, "Boromir misses his City and his people and his brother. He speaks of them to us, a great deal."

Merry nodded. "He does. And besides, when he talks to us, he doesn't, well..."

"Well, what?" Frodo asked, spoon paused in midair; Sam frowned as the spoon and its load went back in the bowl. "He doesn't stare at me so? Yes, Merry, I know. I know the Ring calls to him."

_Well, that's unfair_, Pippin thought, chest burning. "But that's not his fault! Didn't It enspell his ancestor, that King Isildur?" Frodo opened his mouth to reply, but, finding that Sam had placed his spoon back in his hand, put that into his mouth instead as he nodded. Sam took advantage of the pause to put in, "Mr. Merry, Mr. Pippin, Lord Boromir is indeed a mighty man and a kindly one, but, begging your pardon, I've also seen how he looks at Mr. Frodo, and I don't trust him. King Isildur was a forebear of Aragorn's too, yet he don't look so...well, he don't follow the Ring, and Mr. Frodo, with his eyes that way."

"All the more reason for us to be Boromir's friends," Merry said eagerly. "We can keep his mind from It."

"That you can," Frodo agreed, taking another bite of stew. "And, yes, Pippin, I know what this Ring does. I suppose, well, the best thing for Boromir right now _is_ you two creatures." Pippin smiled, pleased despite himself by Frodo's approval; Frodo licked the spoon, looked at it and sidelong at Sam, and licked it again in a way that made Sam blush pink and Merry and Pippin laugh. "Teaching you how to handle a sword, you said? No wonder you two have shared his bedroll since Hollin."

Pippin had no reply to that, as he'd shoved both hands into his mouth and was laughing so hard he fell against Merry, who was near convulsing, arms wrapped round his stomach; when Pippin had recovered enough to pry open his eyes he found Sam open-mouthed with shock, staring at them. "Mr. Frodo, you don't mean, they can't be, I mean, he's a Man, would it _fit_?"

"Oh, Sam!" Clutching each other, Merry and Pippin fell over giggling; "Oh, Sam!" was all Frodo managed before he had to hold himself up with one arm as he shook helplessly with laughter. Sam turned red as a beet as he sat down, then threw an arm round Frodo and laughed till the tears sprang to his eyes.

 

*|*

 

"What in all the Shire, Pippin!" Merry spluttered; Pippin smiled sweetly at him and said, "Ah, but Merry, we're no longer in the Shire," and all Merry could do was sigh. "I know, Pip. But still---"

"What Sam said got me to wondering," Pippin explained, as if it were all plain and easy. "Haven't you ever wondered?"

"Yes, and then I think about how my arse would ache! Lawks, Pip, you won't be able to walk! If you can even convince him."

"Oh, I can convince him." Pippin waggled his eyebrows just so, that mischievous expression that had led Merry into a thousand scrapes and been worth it every time, and kissed Merry warmly. "Keep Frodo and Sam warm for me?" With that Pippin vanished between the grey-boled trees, and Merry sighed, and shook his head, and couldn't keep from smiling at the blood-heating image in his mind.

When he returned to the firelight Frodo sat up, asking, "Merry, where's Pippin?" and Aragorn turned to hear the answer. Merry jerked his head towards the woods; Aragorn saw that gesture, and Boromir's shield and bed-roll lying beside Pippin's pack, and rolled his eyes so that Merry nearly giggled. Frodo followed Merry's glance to the same abandoned gear, and for a moment amusement and concern warred on his face; amusement won, and he vainly tried to stifle his laughter with his hand. Merry shushed Frodo as he knelt beside him, pressing his hand over Frodo's mouth, giggling himself when Frodo pulled him into the bedroll to pull the blanket over his head. "Shush yourself, you daft Brandybuck!" Frodo scolded as Merry thrashed with smothered laughter. "I can't believe you let Pippin go after Boromir!"

"Let him?" Merry answered, still giggling. "Let him? When was the last time we successfully stopped Pippin from doing anything he truly cared to?"

"Or having anyone." Frodo nodded, a hundred memories in his eyes, as he snuggled in with Merry, swathing them both in the bedroll. Across the fire, Gimli and Legolas settled down with much cheerful bickering, while Sam and Aragorn spoke softly. "So have you two been lying with Boromir," Frodo asked, "or did I plant a perilous seed in Pippin's mind?"

"Frodo Baggins, you may be old but I'm in my prime," Merry said, and laughed through his yelp when Frodo punched his shoulder. "How could we not tumble with Boromir? Look at him, he's magnificent! Those eyes, those shoulders!"

"I would have thought he'd have seen you as children," Frodo replied archly, and Merry grinned, squirming closer so his nose brushed dark curls. "Oh, we've convinced him we're grown, well enough," he murmured into Frodo's ear, then licked said ear; Frodo laughed quietly, breathlessly, pushing at Merry's shoulder. "Merry, the whole Company will hear, they need their sleep and their peace."

"They won't hear if you keep quiet," Merry retorted; Frodo's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth, but all he managed was "mmph" when Merry kissed him with rather more tongue than lip.

A soft chuckle over their heads resolved into Sam, kneeling by them, smiling. "Well, Mr. Merry, you have my thanks for making sure Mr. Frodo stays warm while I'm on watch, but please kindly do let him have a spot of sleep." Frodo smiled, reaching up for Sam's hand; Merry laughed brightly and nodded, and Sam warmly brushed a hand over their brows before he left.

"He's right, Merry," said Frodo, "we ought to sleep, we have a long day ahead on the River." Even so, he didn't seem as if he believed his own words, trembling in Merry's arms, so Merry shook his head and kissed him again. "A little tumble will do you good, Frodo. We don't know what tomorrow will bring us anymore. We might as well have some sweetness while we can."

When he heard his own words, Merry's heart ached; the ache grew at the look in Frodo's eyes, gone shadowed even in the firelight. "Who told you that, Merry?" Frodo asked, hand gentle on his cheek; Merry kissed the heel of that hand and whispered, "Pippin did," and the pain in Frodo's eyes echoed his, he knew, as Frodo clenched his other hand in Merry's hair and kissed him fiercely.

 

*|*

 

Boromir groaned above him, and Pippin would have smiled, but, well, his mouth was rather full, and so were his hands, sliding up and down. One of Boromir's hands lay on Pippin's head, not pressing down, just cradling it in firm warmth as he sat against a tree, watching Pippin stroking and sucking him. Pippin pulled his head up, making a wet popping sound as he pulled his mouth off; as he wiggled his jaw back into joint he looked up, and smiled at the wonder and disbelief in Boromir's eyes. "Like this?" he inquired, punctuating his question with a lick; Boromir groaned again, trembling down to the ends of the fingers in Pippin's hair, and Pippin laid wet smacking kisses to the head of his prick, pumping with his hands all the while. Boromir shook more and more, a growl rumbling in his chest; Pippin tasted sweet salt, judged the moment right, and let go to sit back on his heels. "Well? Will you tup me, then?"

Boromir gasped, and opened his eyes wide, and growled thrillingly. "You, you, wicked mite of a halfling, I---" Pippin laughed, then squealed as Boromir grasped his upper arms and lifted him clear off the ground, and Boromir grinned at Pippin's expression and swung him up over his head. "I should hold you here half the night," Boromir threatened, nuzzling Pippin's belly, brushing Pippin's prick and eggs most tantalizingly with his beard. "Put you through a tithe of the torments you visit upon me."

"Torments?" Pippin retorted, voice hitching, as Boromir wrapped that large hot tongue around him. _Oh_, Pippin thought at the writhing, enveloping feel of it, and belatedly realized he'd said it, that he was moaning aloud, his head tilted back, stars winking through the branches of the trees above them. The night breeze skittered across Pippin's skin, but he'd tumbled outside on cooler nights than this, and Boromir's hands were so warm around his arms, Boromir's hair around his fingers, Boromir's mouth around his prick...Pippin closed his eyes and brushed Boromir's sides with his foot-fur and was rewarded with a moan he could _feel_, and moaned in response.

Boromir pushed him higher and away; Pippin gasped at the loss of contact. "Not so loud, little Pippin!" Boromir hissed, and Pippin indignantly struggled to draw breath to defend his stature, but Boromir lowered him to his chest and wrapped those massive arms around him as he kissed him, and there were far more important things to do than talk.

 

*|*

 

"I wish we might be out of these clothes," Frodo murmured in Merry's ear between licks. "I remember the feel of your skin against mine. I miss it."

Merry sighed and nodded, trembling as Frodo's tongue traced a hot damp script on his ear; his hand wandered down from Frodo's jaw, tracing over the slender neck his lips remembered, pushing the collars of tunic and overtunic down as he sought the hollow between the elegant collarbones---

Frodo froze, his hand clamping round Merry's wrist, his entire body rigid. Gasping with shock, Merry looked up into eyes gone opaque as slate; then the terrible moment passed, but in its wake Frodo closed his eyes, turning his head away, and Merry understood, and could have cursed aloud. "Frodo, I'm---"

"No, Merry, I'm sorry. I, It---" with an effort, Frodo turned his eyes to Merry's again, bringing Merry's hand up to kiss the palm and lay it on his cheek. "Merry. You shouldn't be here."

"But I am, Frodo. I'm here to help you. Let me, please?" Merry looked up into Frodo's distant eyes, watching unknown thoughts flicker behind them, trembling with a sudden fear he could hardly define; then those eyes saw him again, and Frodo smiled at him, and Merry's chest unclenched. "What would I have done without you, Merry?" Frodo asked warmly, and Merry relaxed, melding his body to Frodo's again as he kissed him for reply. Moving his lips over Frodo's just the way he recalled he liked, Merry tangled his legs through Frodo's, brushing his calves with his foot-curls, as he tucked a hand between their bodies. Frodo chuckled into the kiss, stroking a hand down across Merry's shoulder and chest and belly to unbutton him; finishing before Merry was half-done, Frodo wriggled clever fingers in to further wreck Merry's concentration.

"Mmm," Frodo murmured as he drew his mouth back from Merry's, "if we do this together we _will_ make noise. And you're going to pull off my buttons before you manage to undo them." Merry tried to laugh, but when Frodo twisted his hand just so, fire crackled up Merry's spine as he went fully hard, and the giggle came out a gasp. "Why don't I calm you down a bit," Frodo murmured against Merry's throat, nipping gently, "and then you can make sure I get some sleep?" Merry nodded slowly, pulling his cheek along Frodo's as he did so, feeling the warmth of Frodo's skin before he fastened their mouths together again; Frodo brought both his hands to his task, stroking Merry's lip with his tongue, and Merry moaned into the kiss.

 

*|*

 

Pippin sat in Boromir's lap, Boromir's prick snug against the cleft of his rump; Boromir had his face cupped in one long-fingered hand, fingers stroking over Pippin's ear and through his hair, while the other hand pulled Pip tight against warm muscle overlain with pleasantly coarse hair. Pippin braced a foot on the tree behind them and wriggled against Boromir as he kissed him, chasing the larger tongue with his own until Boromir gasped and laughed and drew back.

"Ah, Pippin." Boromir slid his hand up Pippin's back, cupped his face, held his gaze, and Pippin felt something glowing within him, deeper than want. "You undo me, my lad, you undo me. But why do you want us to do this? I fear hurting you. I fear Merry's wrath." They both smiled at that, and Pippin turned his head to kiss Boromir's palm, kissing a path up his longest finger. "Because I want to know," Pippin murmured against that hand. "Because you're the most lordly kissing-friend I've ever hand, the most majestic, and not just because you're so big." Boromir laughed quietly, gently stroking Pippin's curls. "Because I want to feel you till I can't feel anything else, not this night, not this wind, not my fear." Boromir's hand slid down Pippin's neck to his back again, pulling him close against his chest.. "Because you have the biggest cock I've ever seen, and I want a story to tell over a pint of ale when I get back home again."

Boromir laughed at that last, and pulled Pippin up for another kiss. "A story to tell over ale, indeed?" Boromir asked, eyes twinkling, as Pippin wound his arms round his neck and licked his nose. "Of a mighty beast and how you triumphed with only the strength in this slender frame?"

"Something like that," Pippin agreed, and kissed Boromir again.

*|*

 

Merry came gasping down from his peak with his face buried in Frodo's shoulder, pressed so tightly he could feel the fine hardness of the mithril through Frodo's shirt and weskit, but through all of those he could feel Frodo's warmth, and he smiled as soon as he could.

"Merry, Merry my dear." Frodo's free hand stroked his back. "Returned to me yet?"

"I don't know," Merry replied, turning his face so his lips nestled against the pulse that beat rapidly in Frodo's throat, belying his calm voice. "I seem to be floating." Frodo chuckled, and held him for a long warm moment before he said, "when you float back, might you pull a handkerchief out of my pocket?"

"As much as I would love to rummage your pocket," Merry replied, curling his hand around Frodo's wrist and drawing his hand up, "there are better ways to deal with this." He licked Frodo's palm, tasting bitterness and salt and life, watching Frodo's face as his eyelids drooped and he laughed breathlessly. "Oh, Merry, you'll get it all over us."

Merry shook his head, sucking on two of Frodo's fingers, undoing Frodo's buttons with his other hand as their peril swiftly grew. Frodo sighed with pleasure, but then his eyes snapped open, a wondering look in them. "Did you---no."

"Do we do this to Boromir? Ah, you _are_ curious!" Merry laid a few final licks to Frodo's hand, watching a delightfully unusual blush spreading across Frodo's face, so deep it could be seen even in the dim firelight. "You should see how much there is when he peaks," Merry went on wickedly, and Frodo moaned, "Merry, stop it."

"And you should see Pippin with him." Merry said in a low hot voice, wrapping his hand round Frodo; Frodo shook his head, bracing himself with one hand, muttering, "I do not believe I am hearing this," but he twitched in Merry's hand, and his breath was coming fast. Merry licked his hot cheek, kissed his ear, kept murmuring. "The two of them, Pippin all enthusiasm and freckles, Boromir so tall and broad and furry like a Stoor, it's quite a sight."

"Meriadoc, I have to face him tomorrow," Frodo protested weakly; Merry nipped and stroked and persisted, warm with how roused he'd made Frodo, with naughtiness and triumph. "That pink rosebud mouth of Pippin's," Merry continued, smiling at Frodo's low moan, "remember how he looks with it wrapped around your prick? Think on that mouth around the head of a prick as much bigger as Boromir's is." Voice and body trembling, Frodo whimpered, "Merry, I do wish you wouldn't use that kind of language," and Merry laughed triumphantly and kissed him.

 

*|*

 

Pippin whimpered, so awash in sensation he could hardly tell pleasure from pain, swirling and crackling all through him. He lay on his back with Boromir curled around him, his head on Boromir's upper arm, one leg draped over Boromir's side and the other bent and braced against Boromir's thigh. Boromir was stroking Pippin's cheek with his thumb, watching his face, waiting as Pippin breathed deeply and clutched at the dry leaves beneath them and felt, just felt, three massive fingers within him. "Pippin," Boromir whispered. "How are you?"

"Agmph," Pippin said, then took a breath, the feel of being so filled jolting through him so that he gasped. Boromir stroked his cheek slowly, and Pippin drew another breath and struggled towards words. "Oh. I." He had to gasp again. "I think I can feel… feel them in back of my throat."

Boromir laughed softly, kissed Pippin's brow; Pippin dragged one of his hands up, over Boromir's shoulder, his corded neck, to tug him down for a kiss on the mouth. With Boromir's mouth muffling his, Pippin inhaled through his nose, and wriggled, and moaned as he impaled himself just a bit more, pain and pleasure chasing each other up his spine. Boromir tried to pull back, but Pippin clutched his rounded ear and hung on, moving his mouth beneath Boromir's to convince him he enjoyed this. After a moment, Boromir returned the kiss, curling his fingers a little, trembling when Pippin cried out with the overwhelming feel of it. "Pippin," Boromir whispered. "Are you sure?"

A bit too far gone to speak, Pippin pried open his eyes, rolling them eloquently, and Boromir smiled; Pippin gently brushed his foot-curls along the underside of Boromir's rigid cock, and grinned when Boromir trembled and closed his eyes, laughed breathlessly and shook his head. "Yes," Pippin managed to reply. "Sure as anything. Come here, come here!" He tugged at Boromir's shoulder, and Boromir opened his eyes wide and laughed and shook his head again. "Oh, no, Pippin. If we do this, you go on top. Merry would never forgive me if I brought his Pippin back flattened like a parchment."

Pippin had to laugh at that, and gripped Boromir's shoulder. Boromir tucked his hand beneath Pippin's back and rolled them over, not withdrawing his fingers, and Pippin gasped, sight blanking, feeling nothing for a moment but that fullness and stretch and, yes, pleasure; he came back to himself cradled against Boromir's chest, a peaked nipple beneath his cheek, and moved his face to mouth it and nip at it till Boromir growled and stroked his back gentle-roughly. "Pippin, you undo me," Boromir murmured, his hand firm on Pippin's waist; Pippin got his nearly-boneless legs beneath him and helped, as much as he could manage anyway all half-melted as he felt, as Boromir pushed him up and back.

"Ready?" Boromir whispered, and Pippin nodded, looking at his hand splayed on Boromir's belly, fingers framing a taut oval navel. Boromir pushed slowly, withdrawing his fingers----

Pippin had just time enough to cram his fist into his mouth to muffle his scream. Even the fingers hadn't readied him fully for the feel of it, white-hot pleasure, pain flickering along the edges. Groaning, Boromir pushed again, and Pippin really _could_ feel him back of his throat, feel him everywhere, so full, past repleteness. The ache grew, and Pippin bit down on his fist, red pulsing behind his eyelids; then it began to fade, and Boromir lifted his other hand, still slick with salve, to stroke him gently, and moved just a little more, and nudged that _spot_, and the pleasure burnt away the last shreds of pain, flared so brightly through him Pippin was almost sure little wisps of fire danced on the ends of his fingers and toes.

"Pippin." His name in Boromir's voice, so low beyond the pounding of his heart he barely heard it; Pippin moaned in response, leaning back, and sank down another terribly wonderful inch, and their bodies were flush. Boromir held him up with one hand, the fingers of the other curled round him, chest heaving so that his every breath made Pippin moan and gasp. "Pippin?" Boromir repeated, want edged with worry.

"Ah. _Yes_." Pippin forced his eyelids up, found Boromir's eyes with his own, managed a smile. "Yes." He leaned forward a little, eyes clenching shut again, every motion sending waves of sensation pounding through him; his hands found Boromir's belly, stroked outward to his wrists, and Pippin leaned his weight on those wrists and slid up, dragging himself forward and off with lip-biting slowness, and pushed back down, and cried out as Boromir growled. "Yes," Boromir rumbled, pulling Pippin up again as Pip pushed, and this stroke was faster, and Pippin wailed and bit his fist again, leaning on one hand as he and Boromir matched thrusts. Up and down and up and up and up, and with a wholly unexpected, violent swiftness, Pippin peaked, feeling himself go up like dry tinder, consumed utterly.

When he could hear anything again beyond the roar of his own blood, Pippin felt, then heard, Boromir whimper; with some unmelted scrap of wit, he thought, _did I do that?_ and sucked in a deep breath, feeling his face pressed to Boromir's chest, and smiled. "Oh, mighty Boromir," Pippin murmured, and Boromir shook with laughter and desire as he answered, "No, you are, you are, you undo me entirely. Can you bear more?"

"Yes, yes!" Pippin pushed himself up, winced in pain and pleasure mingled, pushed back. "In me, peak in me, I want you----"

"Ah, Pippin." Both hands on Pippin's waist now, Boromir pulled him up, pushed him down again; Pippin threw his head back as his spine whiplashed, wondered if one could die of sensation alone, thought it would be worth it. "Pippin, Pippin." Boromir's eyes were shut tight, as he chanted Pippin's name like a battle cry, like a song. "Pippin, Pip--ih--ah!" Clutching Pippin's waist, biting his lip, Boromir arched his back and peaked, and Pippin clutched Boromir's wrists and hung on, feeling the pulse of it inside him, shaking him all through.

"Oh." Pippin said in a small wondering voice, and collapsed onto Boromir, riding the waves of his deep breaths. After a moment to catch his own breath, Pippin started stroking Boromir's chest gently as his breathing slowed, till he chuckled and caught Pippin's hands with one of his own. "Ah," Boromir said at length. "Ah, Pippin. And how was?"

"More splendid than fireworks!" But the thought of fireworks brought Gandalf to mind, and all the bliss washing through Pippin just made more room for grief to flood in, so that he had to stifle a sob. "Pippin?" Boromir asked with worry, and he shook his head in reply. "Nothing. I'm fine. I'm better than fine! You're magnificent."

Boromir laughed warmly at that, stroking Pippin's back. "And you, my halfling, are magic. One day, after our task is done, I will bring you and Merry to my City, to be honored by my father and especially to meet my brother. He will love you."

"Is he like you?" Pippin pulled himself up Boromir's chest, pushed a little, came off with a wet sound that made them both laugh, and Boromir tangled a hand in his hair. "Faramir is like me, and is not. He is learned and wise, the scholar of our family; he will delight in meeting halflings out of distant legend, people he has only seen in his books."

"He will like Frodo, then, they can talk about old lore together." Pippin rubbed his cheek against Boromir's chest, feeling the sheen of glowing sweat on them starting to cool.

"They will talk well and deeply indeed, but Faramir will also be fond of you and Merry. I look forward to watching you two bring him laughter, gladden his heart." Boromir pulled Pippin further up and kissed him, stroking his cheek with his fingertips. "But for now, we should dress and go back to the others."

"In a moment, a moment. I feel all melted, I need to congeal." Pippin dramatically went limp over Boromir's chest, and Boromir laughed and kissed the top of his head, and they lay together as the wind gently brushed over them.

 

*|*

 

Snug with Frodo's arm round his waist, Merry's first reaction to the opening of the bedroll and the cold draft that woke him was to grumble, "Sam!" But a drowsy grunt from behind Frodo was Sam's answer, and the hobbit lain down before Merry was an already soundly sleeping Pippin. As he wrapped his arms round Pippin, who murmured faintly and curled up against his chest, Merry kindled comprehension in his sleep-clogged mind in time to open an eye and look up at Boromir kneeling beside them, hair rather disheveled even in the dim moonlight. "Hullo," Merry whispered, opening both eyes and smiling, but for a moment it seemed that Boromir's eyes glittered strangely, their gaze not on him nor on Pippin but on Frodo; just as Merry's smile was starting to fade, Boromir's gaze rested fondly on him, his answering smile wide and warm. "Goodnight," Boromir replied, and bent to kiss Merry and stroke his hair, before pulling the blankets back in place around the hobbits and stepping away. Warmed by Boromir's kiss and by Pippin in his arms, Merry nestled his face into Pippin's leaf-scented curls and sank back into sleep.


End file.
